An Alternate Ending to George Orwell's Animal Farm
by Meika13
Summary: An alternate ending to George Orwell's Animal Farm.


An Alternate Ending to George Orwell's _Animal Farm_

A whip cracked, and a cloud of dust rose into the sweltering, hot air. There was a whinny; and then, there was another crack, and another, and another.

A great crash followed, and the horse had fallen. It lay prostrate and motionless on the dry, sandy field of the Manor Farm.

Years passed since the animals first rebelled. The Manor Farm was no longer prosperous; it now rested in shambles. Things did not appear, even physically, as they had during what the animals dubbed, "The Golden Days." The fields were not green, and the crops did not grow. The gates were rusted; the fences were in disrepair; and a broken windmill also rested amongst a pile of rubbles.

The Napoleon Windmill, which had been the pride of their forefathers, was now forgotten. When the decade changed and Napoleon was finally gone, Frederick and his men broke in out of spite and destroyed it again. The windmill, or what was left of it, resided on the farm in ruins.

Things ran smoothly until Squealer Junior took over. The attempt to run the farm had been given up completely. The Manor Farm now relied upon the income brought in by the hen's eggs. More often than not, the animals starved through the night. Much of the foods gained were reserved for the pigs, who were the majority; the working class was to survive upon whatever they could find on the land, in the trees, and in the trash.

"Anyone who attempts to give this piece of vermin," he pointed with his trotter to the horse on the ground, "a single grain would be severely punished!" barked Squealer Junior, standing proudly upon his two legs rather than all four. There was a familiar, malevolent twinkle in his eyes that resembled that of his father's. He scrutinized all the animals. "You lot hear?" he hollered again.

All the animals nodded, not at all bothered by this recent display of violence. Scenes as such were repeated so often on the farm that it no longer bothered the animals.

The farmhouse clock rang twelve, and all the animals stopped pulling and shifting whatever it was that they were pulling and shifting. With their heads bowed, they began to sing a song. This song differed greatly from the previous two anthems of the farm. This song went:

_Squealer, Squealer, Leader of all;_

_We worship you, who stand on two legs and tall._

_Never has Manor Farm seen such a day,_

_Where stables are fill with such ample hay._

_Squealer, Squealer, Father of the Farm;_

_Never through us shall you come to harm._

After this song was sung three times, a gunshot followed to call for every animal to be back at work. Animals that were found at rest were given an immediate flogging by a nearby, patrolling pig.

As dismal as their situation was, the animals never gave up hope. They worked like slaves, harder and harder each day. They still dreamed of Sugarcandy Mountain, where it was Sunday every day, and sugar lumps and clovers grew wild.

In the quiet farmhouse, Old Benjamin sat, gazing at a wall that was covered with a badly drawn picture of Squealer Junior. He remembered clearly that once there had been seven commandments there, written in white paint, to insure an animal's equality.

Though Benjamin believed that the Rebellion made no difference; he couldn't help but ponder. What would it be like to be freed from this miserable life? What would it be like to live in a place where animals did not suffer daily from starvation, and things did not go from bad to worse?

Benjamin's train of thoughts was broken, as a group of small ducklings and their mother waddled by. A small duckling inquired, "What is it that you are staring at, Mr. Benjamin? Are you, perhaps, remembering something of the Rebellion?"

"O, yes!" one of the other ducklings chimed. "Please! Tell us of the Rebellion. Mother says that there were explosions and explosions!"

Their mother looked harassed and embarrassed, "Do not bother Mr. Benjamin with your silly questions. Do you not remember, Master Squealer said that the Rebellion had been nothing but a myth?" The mother duck gave her ducklings a scolding look before facing Benjamin again, "I apologize, Benjamin."

"Donkeys live a long time," said Benjamin, "none of you has ever seen a dead donkey." With no other remark, Benjamin returned to staring at the wall.

The ducklings gawked; the only thing that came to their innocent minds was, "What a barmy, old donkey." Carefully, the young ducklings and their mother shuffled away, leaving Old Benjamin alone to himself once more.

Old Benjamin continued to look intently at the wall. Quietly, he began to hum the tunes of _The Beast of England_ to himself, wondering what the day would be like when no animal was more equal than another.

* * *

Note: Ehehe. I recently found this section and thought that this piece ought to be posted. This piece was submitted to my English teacher as an essay when we did a segment on George Orwell's _Animal Farm_ (please do kindly excuse my poor excuse for grammar). If you had not read _Animal Farm_, I strongly urge you to. The book reflected Orwell's view on totalitarianism, and the symbolism in this novel was simply striking. 


End file.
